His eyes were worn and tired and sad. He was sitting by her bed again. He never seemed to leave her side these days. She was too weak to open her eyes for very long, now. The doctors said that she only had a few more days. They never did find out what it was…so they couldn't find a cure, no matter how quickly they worked. Just two weeks ago she had been perfectly fine…perfectly fine.
It was the cough that startled him from his melancholy state. She groaned gently under her breath and he sat forward, brushing back her hair from her face and kissing her feverish forehead softly.
"Ollie?" She murmered, mustering enough strength to reach towards him. He took her hand quickly, blinking back the tears that were always there.
"I'm right here, love." He assured her, his lips brushing over her knuckles. Her fingers slowly, painstakingly, curled around his, and he squeezed her hand gently. "Do you need anything?" She coughed again, and this time it was longer and more brutal, rougher and sounding like it was tearing her throat apart. It was tearing him apart. She sounded absolutley horrible. Her eyes squeezed shut and she began to shake slightly, something that she'd been doing a lot more often these days. He had to bite his lip to keep from crying out. He hated to see her like this. He hated to hear her like this.
"Oh Angel…" He kissed her cheek, and she relaxed a little. His own hands shaking, he crawled under the covers beside her, wrapping his Quidditch-toned arms around her body. She was scorchingly hot, though she was shivering uncontrollably. She was too thin, probably weighing just over a hundred pounds after losing a good twenty since she'd been sick. He dropped his head to her sweating shoulder, kissing it tenderly. She breathed his name, and he oh-so-gently turned her to face him, her eyes opening slowly, painfully, and looking into his hazel ones. "I'll follow you." He breathed. He felt a dead weight settle at the base of his throat, and he knew, then, he knew. "No matter where you go, I'll be right here beside you." Tears gathered into her eyes and she had no strength to stop them from swarming down her cheeks. He caught her lips. She was too tired to protest, though she usually did. The disease was not contagious, that had already been confirmed, but according to Angelina, you could never be too careful about those things.
"I'm ready." She muttered. " I'm not afraid…of…dying…"
"You're not going to die." He tired to assure her as much as himself. "It's gonna be alright, okay? They'll find a cure, they're working like crazy right now…" Her head shook slowly, and his voice caught in his throat. "You'll be okay, love…you have to be, I can't – I can't -" She gasped suddenly, bright red pain flashing behind her eyelids. She was ready, she knew it was coming, any moment now. He tightened his grip on her as he saw her face pale, her breathing become ragged, her fingers gripping his shoulders tightly.
"I love you." She forced out, tears still falling. "I love you Wood."
"Angel." He shook her gently, his own eyes beginning to fill. "Stop it. You're just fine." She squeezed exceptionally tight for a moment, before her grip began to loosen. "Angelina!" He buryed his head into her hair, his eyes closing as he held her close.
"I love you too." He whispered into her ear. "You won't be alone. I'll follow you soon, love. I promise." Her eyes opened one last time, and she smiled at him, a genuine smile painted on her face, that was still beautiful, even as her final moments approached. He kissed her lips, savoring her taste, her warmth, her touch, her scent. This was the last time. The last time.
And then, suddenly, she went limp in his arms, and her chest was no longer moving. He knew better than to try and shake her and scream and cry and plead for her to open her eyes, because no amount of that would bring her back. He knew that. He'd been ready for this. He'd been ready for it since Day One.
"Wait for me Angel." It was almost a whisper. "Wait for me." As the tears made their silent way down his cheeks he fumbled in his pocket for the vial. It was poison that he'd mixed himself. It was almost painless. Almost instant. He uncorked it quickly with his thumb, taking one last look around the room, his things, the pictures. He imagined what they would say when they saw them sleeping but finally realized that it wasn't sleep after all. He imagined that screams of his Mum, the wails of his little sister, the tears of his burly father. He could clearly picture Angelina's parents, two blubbering balls of mush, their friends, Katie, Alicia, Fred and George, Lee…the whole gang. He wondered what they would think…
And then, because he knew that she would be waiting for him when the dark engulfed him, he downed the posion in one large gulp. As it began to flow into his bloodstream and to his heart and brain, he gathered her body into his arms, wrapped his arms around her, and whispered,
"I'll be there soon, love."
FIN